Six Months Left
by Klaine on Broadway
Summary: Blaine develops a disease that allows him with six months with his memory and life. As his days begin to count down he decides to write letters to his friends and family expressing his final emotions.
1. Letter One Kurt

Kurt,

The doctors say what I have is like Alzheimer. They can't explain what's going on in my body. It's like a word nobody can say or a sock they can't find. All they know is I only have, at most, six months to live. I'm not scared of dying though, I'm scared of the effects this disease will have. Soon I will begin to forget simple things like how to put on a bow tie or even what my address is. It will only continue to get worse until I forget how to breathe. My doctor gave me pills for depression, but I threw them away. Pills will not fix anything. My doctor also recommended that I go to weekly counseling sessions, but I refuse to go.

I hate myself for knowing that one-day Kurt, one-day, I will forget you and everything that has happened with you. I'm scared of that, and I know you are too. I can hear you crying in the other room, and I know you're trying to silence your sobs so I can't hear. I don't like hearing you cry, and I wish I could go in there and hold you and tell you everything will be okay, but I don't know if I could bring myself to look at your tear-stained face. Kurt, I love you more than anything in this world and I need you to remember that. All I wanted to do was spend the rest of my life loving you. I will always love you. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.

I regret a lot of things. My biggest regret is cheating on you. I thought by sleeping with someone else would make me happier, from being so far away from you, but it only made me sadder. I was going to fly to New York and see you in two weeks but my stupid mind got the best of me. You are so much better than me, but for some reason you chose to take me back after it all happened. Why? Why did you take me back? I wasn't worth the heartache. Another regret of mine is not spending enough time with you. Kurt, you always have these events that you would invite me to, but I would say no for the dumbest reasons. Even when were in our apartment I could hear you watching Les Misérable I could have easily joined you and sang along to our favorite songs, but no I had to be the piece of shit that I am and ignore it. You deserve to be happy Kurt.

If I were brave I could tell you this person. I would tell you everything. From beginning to end. The whole story of how I feel, but it's not that easy, is it ever that easy?

- Blaine


	2. Letter Two Sam

Sam,

To tell the truth, before I knew I was dying, I thought about writing this letter and sending them, and hiding forever. That was a long, long, long time ago, but really, that feeling of hopelessness was only a few months ago.

I have gotten happier since then, I guess. In fact, a lot has changed then. I don't even know where to start, Sam. I'm afraid that I'll spend the rest of my days writing this letter, just because no one is here to tell me to stop.

Did you know I used to be chronically depressed? That's why I started to drink last year. I went to counseling though, and I'm okay now, well, okay being a relative term. I don't think there is anything 'okay' about losing the ability to function like a proper human. It's just pitiful, really. A shell of a hopeless man.

I would like to think you didn't know I was depressed. You and Kurt were the only people I would try to hide it from. Kurt because I knew he wouldn't understand. If I told him half the things he didn't know he wouldn't leave my side. Kurt would be too worried to leave. I think a lot of people would worry, but I hide myself so much, they just assume that I like to be quiet.

The truth, Sam, I have a lot of things I want to say, I'm just scared of what people would think. Ironic isn't, I have spent all my time with Kurt telling him to have courage and forget what other people think, but deep down it has always been my problem.

Sam, have you ever loved somebody so much that the thought of telling them was completely ridiculous? Loved them so much that you never told them how you felt, and you deeply regretted it? It's pain, Sam. It burns me and freezes my heart. It hurts, Sam. It hurts all the time.

I think I have been confused about my emotions for as long as I can remember. Maybe that has something to do with my memory, and I cant remember whether to be happy or sad or confused. I'd like to think that's what it was, honestly, and I'm not just some pathetic, confused shell

Personally, I think there is no other feeling worse than confusion. Not a single other emotion can make you feel so useless. So hopeless.I wish I could tell you, Sam. I would just tell you. I would blurt it out in one sentence in this goddamn letter.

Then, I could stop, couldn't I? I could stop writing letters. I could just stop, put down this pencil and go to sleep and wake up tomorrow and start living.

I can't do that.

It's three in the morning right now. I haven't slept in two days. That's another side effect from this disease. I can't sleep. Kurt came in here earlier. He stood over my shoulder, watching me stare at the blank paper and tighten my grip around my pencil. I could hear him breathe, and maybe I was imaging it, the constant tap of his heart.

"Coming to bed, honey?"

The innocence in his voice crushed my heart. There is so much he doesn't know, and he will never know.

I choked on my answer as I turned back to my paper, "No."

I could see the tears build up in his eyes as he turned around and left.

Sometimes, I wonder why he doesn't leave me in the middle of the night. Why he doesn't take a bag of his belongings and go. Kurt deserves better than this, better than me.

I'm not sure that anyone would want to be in my presence anymore. No one. Imagine what it would be like to wake up one day and find out that your loved one has forgotten your name, face, and even who you are. A stranger in the body of somebody who use to love you.

The Sun is rising now, yellow, harmless light billing this haunted black house. I can hear the sounds of Kurt waking up in the next room. Sad, sad sounds. I hate to go, but Kurt will worry if he knows I was awake the whole night.

-Blaine


	3. Letter Three Cooper

Cooper,

Hello my dear brother. I can't close my eyes anymore. Nightmares haunt me, All of my devastation's formed into picture shows in the own subconscious of my mind as I lie asleep. Often, when I do managed to sleep, I find myself being torn from the horrific dreams by Kurt, frantically shaking my sweaty, tense shoulders as I scream in anguish.

I don't sleep around him anymore. His need for slumber is more precious than mine. Kurt forced me to come to bed earlier. He came to my desk in the room he's rarely entered. We stay on separate sides of the house when he's home because of the literal and figurative walls I have built. When he leaves for work, I do, however, leave the cavern of my darkness for the desolate abandoned kitchen, or to the restroom where I stare into my dead brown eyes.

Anyways, he came to my desk and watched me stare at the paper. I have never once mentioned my letter writing, not has he asked. Perhaps he just doesn't care to know. Kurt watched my for the longest time. Motionless, for what seemed like hours until he he did something unexpected. He raise his hand and laid his palms on my shoulders.

"Come to bed," He said barely whispered. His fingers cold over my rigid collarbone.

I glanced over my shoulder and looked at his hands. They looked aged. They reminded me of an old man's hands. They were aged, tired, and arthritic. Long and bony and caverned like the deep depressions of somebody who has lost so much over the course of their life. I had to turn away from falling apart.

"Blaine," He whispered, running his fingers along my collarbone. This was the first time he had said my name in months. The sound seemed so unfamiliar to me, for a moment, I almost believed it wasn't him.

"I'm not coming to bed," I replied weakly, my first words of the day. They were fragile, but they ached with painful certainty. Kurt wasn't giving up. He sighed, leaning closer; he pressed his lips against my check.

"Please?" He whispered, laying his fingers across my chest, dragging his nails into the fabric of the shirt I had not changed in days.

"No," I replied stiffly, keeping my eyes attached to the table. I knew if I looked at him I would fall apart.

There was a moment of silence, and Kurt's grip loosened. He reached behind himself and then displayed a small mirror in front of me. He switched on the lamp on my desk, and to my utmost horror, held the mirror before my face.

Cooper, I saw an evil monster starting back at me. I saw it's black ringed eyes and sunken cheeks and greasy hair. It hated itself just as much as it hated being staring back at. It was evil, an abomination. It needed to be destroyed because all it does is hurt people. It was a monster.

The monster was me.

I cried out in pain. I couldn't bear it. The mirror. It was frightening me. I cried and press my hands over my face, trying to hid it. In my fit of terror, I lifted my right hand and slapped the mirror away. It fell from his hand and shattered against the floor.

I wonder if Kurt could feel the sorrow and despair I felt at that moment. I met his dark eyes and realized how ringed they were as mine. They're sad eyes for a sad man. He loved somebody who could never love him back, and my heart broke for this reason as I sat there.

Kurt is a perfect human, Cooper, I would never deny this for a second. In another life, Kurt will make a lucky man very happy, and they will grow old together and raise a family. It's a shame, however, it will not be in this life because he has unknowingly wasted it on me. On a stupid man. Isn't it heart breaking? Maybe in that life, things are perfect, and I love him and he loves me and we could adopt beautiful children that could possibly learn to be more like him, and nothing like me. Maybe.

Possibly.

Probably not.

Cooper, I write this now from the bed I once shared with Kurt. He's beside me, his back to me and I can her the sound of him breathing. I joined him in this bed, which feels like I'm lying adrift in the middle of a black ocean. He wanted my company. He was lonely. He just wanted somebody he could lay besides and pretend things are normal. That we were a normal couple. That the loose ties I made in an attempt to hold my life together were not falling apart. That, little by little, things are getting worse, and I don't see them getting any better soon or in the future before Christmas.

Just know that things will be better after I die, Cooper. When I'm gone, Kurt will be happier. He may not realize that now, and I don't think he will for a while, maybe years, but he will be happier.

I am poison. I am a monster. I need to be destroyed.

A part of me is beginning to believe that this disease is a blessing to part the people ho love me away because, eventually, I would have destroyed their happiness. Perhaps, this was always meant to happen, and I shouldn't be so sad about losing my memory.

It's getting worse, Cooper.

This morning, I stood in front of my mirror in the bathroom in the dark because I can't stand my reflection. I tried thinking about who I really am, or at least who I use to be, but then I couldn't remember my name. My own name. Pathetic isn't what kind of human doesn't even know their own name. I went to a yearbook and flipped through the pages until I found it. I also saw picture of people who use to be my friends. Tina, Sam, Mike, Puck, Artey, and even Finn. I cut all of their pictures out and placed them on my desk.

I need to keep writing these letters. I need to keep doing this, or I'm afraid something bad is going to happen to me. I'm afraid I'm going to take my own life.

I have to end this here. Kurt's alarm is going to go off in three minutes. I don't want him to wake-up and see that I haven't slept. That I have sat here the whole time writing this letter. I'm going to pretend that I had been calmly submersed in my own dreamless sleep this whole time…that's worth a laugh.

My sleep is never calm. It's violent and painful. It's horrifying and strangling, and it's threatening to kill me. It seems like a lot of things are threatening to kill me, and the biggest threat is myself. I don't know if I can make it till Christmas, Cooper.

Putting this all to an early end doesn't sound so bad.

-Blaine.


	4. Letter Four Kurt

Kurt,

I never thought I would be writing this letter to you. The truth is, Kurt, a lot has changed in the past few hours, and my heart is dying, however, I do not deny that it's been slowly wasting away for the past month and a half. Today, on the other hand, was what melted my heart in the worst way possible.

I'm not sure if you will ever read this because I'm not sure if you're ever coming home, and maybe it's better if you don't. I'm not saying I never want to see you again, because I do, Kurt. You're the best thing that has happened to me- my friend.

You are my friend that has grown away from me just as many friendships do as time progresses on. A bookmark left in a book that was never read. The scratch of a name once carved on a dying tree. A calendar left stationary on the wrong month and years as time leaves it further and further behind. Is that a tragedy for you and I?

Had I not stupidly made you fall in love with me, while I sang Teenage Dream, would we even talk anymore? Or would you be happily living your life with a wonderful man? I'm afraid of the answer and the reality of what I have robbed you of.

This morning seems like a millennium has passed, however, it was only a few hours ago. How many, I am unsure. I cannot recall a time because I never saw a clock, and even if I had, I wouldn't remember it anyway.

The sun was rising. I remember this because of the light on my blank paper this is on longer blank. I've noticed that I remember lighting better than anything else anymore. There was a golden glow on my paper. Deep down in the depths of my ink, black hole of a heart, I hoped that was a sign that I would be able to start my next letter to Sam today, but after what has happened, that letter may never exist.

I made myself a deal that after my words go on paper, they're there for good. I will not allow myself to throw away a letter and start over, or delete a sentence that sounds too rash. I wrote theses letters as the words came from my head, just as I would say them out to you, to Cooper, or even Sam. I figured that was the least cowardly thing I could possibly do.

So now, here I am, sitting at my desk. It's late, and I write by the light of my lamp. The only light in this haunted house. I checked my calendar earlier as I had began this letter, and I realized it was the end of August. My time is ticking, and I can fell it in everything I do, especially my memories, which I lose everyday.

But this letter isn't about me, Kurt. In fact, it is the opposite.

It's about you.

I'm not dating any of these letters. Especially not this one because I think that you'll know what date it is anyway.

As I have said before, I remember the light of the morning as it dusted itself through the window and onto my desk. I knew you were awake before the sound of your alarm, almost like a sense between two lovers. I can't remember much after that. A blur of light and sounds of doors and feet. I'm not sure how much time passed before suddenly in the room besides me, and intruder inside my bubble.

I looked at you for a moment, your hands were behind your back as you took a step from me, and your eyes were glossy. That was the moment, the exact moment when I know what was happening.

And then, you said my name. You said it so softly, so sweet, I thought for a moment you were another person.

"Blaine?" You said.

Honestly, I've always hated my name.

When I finally looked at you, I noticed tears were on your cheeks.

"I…I…" You stumbled. I knew this was hard for you. It's hard for me to hear. I didn't look at you, I just stared at my paper. I knew I couldn't bare to look at you. I could hear you sniffle, and I didn't try to comfort you. I could bring myself to do that.

"Blaine, I cheated."

And then, you said it.

I've been expecting it for a while. I knew it was coming. Last week when you went to 'go spend time with Rachael', I knew what you were really doing, and I know it was with Chandler. This second, which, I was placed on the spot. This second, the truth was forced down my throat and into my heart. It wrapped around my soul and then strangled me.

I could only find two words.

"I know."

Two words which changed my life right then, and then yours too. I raised my head, almost forgetting why you were here, in my bubble. You were an intruder in my bubble, but then I saw your face. The reality of what was going on hit me.

And you were crying.

Tears were running down your pale face. I never remember seeing you cry that often before, except at healthy times, like when people died. You were always so tough to me, and that was something I could admire with you. So strong. Everything I am not.

I knew you weren't going to respond to that. I watched you shake your pale face towards me, disgusted as you tried to fight back the tears running down your check. It's hard to keep from crying. Especially times like right now when things seem so black and desolate. I don't cry anymore. I'm not sad. Just…empty.

I don't know how long you stood there, face contorted as the tears ran along the curve of your cheeks and jaw. I can only imagine what you have been feeling. I know you wanted a true response. I know you wanted me to be angry that you 'betrayed' me but you didn't I betrayed you.

That's why I hope you didn't feel love for me or an sort of affection. I don't deserve that. Not from you, Sam, or anyone.

So much time passed, I forgot why you were here, standing in front of me. My mind blank, and that was obvious in my facial expression. Was confused as to why my partner was standing here in my room. He was an intruder in my bubble. That made me angry. I wish I could have remembered at that moment why you were here. If you had told me the following would have never been said.

You turned to leave suddenly, and that upset me even more, but I don't understand why. You were almost out the door when I said one of the worst things I have ever uttered in my life.

"You'll be sorry when I'm gone."

I don't know why I said it. I don't know why I thought it was okay. I'm not even sure what you'll be sorry for. Maybe I was thinking that you would be sorry that you were never good enough for me, even though I wish with every fiber of my being that you would be.

I'm sorry, Kurt. I'm so sorry,

The second I said it; I was suddenly reminded of why you were here. You cheated to get my attention. You cried not because you were sorry for what you did you cried because I didn't care.

Kurt, I wanted to snatch my words back out of the air. I wanted to apologize, but the words 'I'm sorry' sound so filthy coming from my lips, it would just be as bad as saying nothing at all.

You paused, your aged, wrinkled hand resting on the doorframe. You were completely motionless except you hand. Your fingers began to shake like do when you get nervous. I'm not sure how long you stood there. The air was so still, I was afraid it going to come alive and fall apart around us.

I knew it was over.

"No," You whispered, your back facing me. Somehow, I knew you were still crying. "No. I'm sorry I ever tried while you were still here."

And then you walked out of my bubble, out of my room, out of my life.

I don't know if I will ever see you again.

I'm so horribly, terribly sorry, Kurt. You never deserved to have to live with me. This monster of a human. I am a monster. I am evil. I need to be destroyed. My body needs to be burned until all that is left is a pile of black ashes.

It was then, Kurt that I decided there was nothing left. I took my pen from my desk besides the blank note. The note that I decided would stay blank forever. I decided my letters were done. I decided I was done.

This wasn't me copping out Kurt.

This was me putting everybody I care about out of their misery- putting you out of misery.

I drew the pen across my hand, scrawling what I hoped was the last sentence of my life. I don't remember that sentence, Kurt. It could have been important. It could have been nothing at all. All I remember was the word 'Tell' which was across the back of my left hand. Perhaps the sentence was 'Tell Kurt everything will be okay,' but I seriously doubt that my thoughts were that logic. I hope that's what I wrote, but I really don't think I did.

Maybe I only wrote 'Tell'.

I remember standing after that, my body struggling to hold my weight, my knees weakening. I remember crossing the room. I remember standing where you stood. I remember placing my hand on the doorframe. I stumbled into the bathroom. I remember darkness. I closed the door behind me, and nearly collapsed when I heard the door shut because I thought it would be the last thing I would ever hear.

I stood in front of the mirror. It was dark, so my face was hidden. Taking a slow, calm breath. My hands moved through the darkness and found the medicine cabinet. I remember the creak as the door of the cabinet opened. My hands grabbed bottles of pills. Prescriptions for antibiotics that I had taken last November when I got pneumonia. Cold medicine, allergy pills, anything I could grab. I was well aware of what I was doing, and my body moved with certainty.

I was ending it all right there in the bathroom.

I opened every bottle, every case, everything. I poured pills in my hands and popped them in my mouth without pausing. They slowly slid, one by one, down my throat into my stomach. Some burned my throat. Some snagged and caused me to gag, but I powered through it and continued until there wasn't a single pill left.

Kurt, I had made the choice to end my life. I had preformed the actions necessary.

I had no idea hot it would happen. Maybe, I though, things would just fade to black and all the pain would be over. Everything would be okay.

I took a deep breath not sure how much time I have left before the medication began to sink in, and left the bathroom. I crossed the house, our home barely lit as the sun disappeared for the night. I had spent all day in the bathroom, even though it seemed like no time at all. I tried not to look at anything around me as I entered our bedroom. The sheets were tossed aside the dresser was open. For some reason, that bothered me because I knew you were coming back. I realized how selfish I was.

You loved me, and I was killing myself. You were coming because you couldn't leave me, only to find that I had left you.

You would be the one to find my dead body. You would be the one to call Cooper, crying at three A.M. because the love of your life is dead in the bed that you had once shared. You would be the one to speak at my funeral, even though the idea is terrible, you would be the one loudly crying in the back row as they lowered my body into the ground.

I had put that on you.

I collapsed, not from the pills I had taken. I collapsed from a result of my own self-loathing. Whimpering and weeping for the first time in months, I crossed the room on my hands and knees, my back shaking, body crumbling. I'm not sure how my weak body did it, but I pulled myself onto our bed.

I laid beneath the spinning ceiling fan, sobbing quietly, my vision a blur from the tear. My eyes stung as I lay there, crying. I'm not sure how long it was, but all I could do was wipe my eyes with the back of my hands. The sunset and crying subsided and was replaced by drowsiness. Sick, sick drowsiness.

I allowed my mind to wander, which is some thing I rarely do. I felt like it was a small treat for me.

As I laid there, thinking my last thoughts, I wanted to think of you. I wanted to think of Cooper. I wanted to think of the good times we had, which were few and far between. I wanted to think of my friends, some of which who had not talked to me since my diagnosis because the probably don't care.

But my mind wouldn't let me.

My last thoughts were of singing one more song, and I am so, so sorry. In another life, my last thoughts would have been you. My thoughts would have been us holding each other. My last thoughts would have been or wedding.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

I slept a dreamless, deep sleep. So deep, I thought I was dead, like I was supposed to be, my body dead and empty. I wanted the pills to take my life to put you out of your misery. I wanted the pills to free Cooper from my burden. I wanted the pills to make you happy,

But, then, the worst possible thing happened.

I woke up.

My eyes opened and the ceiling fan was still spinning like no time had passes at all I sat up, almost forgetting why I was here. Why was I here in this bed? I looked down at my hands on the top of my left hand was a smear of ink, the word 'Tell' barely legible.

What did that even mean?

I'm such a monster even death didn't want me. I mess up so much I couldn't even do suicide right.

I'm sorry I can't love you. I'm sorry I tried to kill myself. I'm sorry you have wasted so much time with me.

When I was a child, I used to apologize every time somebody was sad like it was my fault. Eventually, my grandma told, me that if I kept saying 'I'm sorry' the words would be so worn down; they wouldn't mean anything when I really meant it.

Well now I mean it Kurt. I'm sorry.

I'm sorry you love me.

I'm sorry.

-Blaine


	5. Letter Five Sam

Sam,

I want to say sorry for today. Though, I write quickly because I'm scared I'm going to lose all memory of today's events. Such holes already exist in my memory. I'm missing years now, years of my life.

It is October now. After Kurt left and then returned, I put away my pencil for some time. I felt like it was the only way I could make up for what I had said to him. I still feel like its hard fro him to look at me. Things have been different since his departure and return, just as one would expect. Kurt no longer tried to make conversation or any attempts to touch me. We speak, if possible, less than we did before.

Since I last wrote, I've lost a lot more of my self. I think it's better this was because I'm slowly becoming someone else. That's how much I have lost.

I don't dress myself in the mornings. I can't tie bowties any more so Kurt tried to make me fell better by replacing all of my tie able bowties with simple clip on ones, but those gave me troubles so I don't wear bow ties anymore. My grammar is worse too. I feel less like the mature guy I use to be. Sometimes, like the sentence previous to this one, I say things that are ridiculous, and I cant take them back. It's embarrassing, and I happen to do it all the time

I think that will explain anything I did today that I can't remember. You were so understanding about it, though. You were never the least bit condescending when I said strange things. I appreciate that.

I remember this morning, miraculously. I remember laying awake in the living room, my head resting on one of the uncomfortable pillows Kurt insisted on keeping around to make the couches look smaller than they actually are. I think I was watching some show on T.V., but I can't recall what it was about. Kurt came in a dragged me out of my half awake stupor by turning off the T.V. I sat up, my hands dragging across the fake leather of the couch.

"I have to work today," He said rigidly, placing his hands on his hips. Usually on the days he works, as demanding as it is, Kurt had a home health nurse come by and look after me. Of course, I'm a little okay with that because the nurse makes me Italian food, which is great. I can never remember her name.

I looked around behind me and saw no neat old lady in blue scrubs. I hate to admit I really like that old lady. She doesn't really help me with much these days. She mostly sits in the living room, watching T.V. with me and then makes me lunch, we do some memory games that never work, and then sometimes we play "Go Fish" with the cards that she brings. We never play anything but "Go Fish." I can't remember why."

Anyways.

I must have looked pretty confused, because Kurt snapped his fingers, and I turned back towards her.

"Somebody is here to see you," He said with a smile. It was odd seeing him smile it had been so long.

And then I turned around to see you their Sam holding a plastic bag in your hand.. You waved at me and I remember waving back,

"Hi Sam," I greeted eagerly, standing up. I approached you, and you welcomed me in a hug. I don't remember what exactly happened next, but you and Kurt talked for minute. Kurt said thank you a lot in that conversation, though.

After Kurt left we went to my room where I sit and write these letters. I was scared to say something stupid. I walked to my desk and sat on the chair and you Sam sat on the couch that is across the room sit holding that bag.

"What's in there?" I pointed to the bag.

"It's just memories, I wanted to see if you could remember any of them." You shock the bag to acknowledge that there was something in there.

"Show me." You nodded your head and walked over to the desk that I was sitting at pulled over a chair for you to sit on.

"Im going to show you some pictures and I want you to tell me if you know or can remember who it is." Your hand reached in the bag and you showed me the first picture.

It was a girl. I can't really remember the picture now, but She had brown hair, and dark brown eyes. Also she was Asian. She was standing by a piano smiling, I think. I stared at the picture for a solid three minutes before you said something.

"Blaine," You softly whispered, "That's our friend…our friend Tina."

I lowered my gaze, ashamed. How could I forget Tina? Her and I went through a little rough patch, but she was still one of my friends. I let that one slide and waved for another picture. He had short brown hair, Glasses, and he was in a wheelchair.

I frowned at the picture, my brow furrowed, my hands shaking under my chin. I wanted to remember. I wanted to know who this man was. The way he was sitting in that wheelchair, I thought I knew him. No, I knew I knew him. My brain had just forgotten him. This did not mean he was unimportant; It just meant he was forgotten. Just because you're forgotten doesn't mean you're unimportant.

After several minutes, I shook my head again, feeling sick.

"This is Artie, Blaine, you said calmly and patiently, "He was also our friend. He was in our Glee club."

I folded my head in my hands to keep from breaking down. It's been getting worse. I'm losing everything. Every single thing. It hurts. It hurts me so badly. A few minutes later, when I was composed, I raised my head and sighed, nodding.

"It's okay to Continue," I said, my lips shaking.

You showed me another picture. Another Man. I didn't even pretend to recognize him. He had brown hair, and Blue eyes. Well, that's all I can remember. I shook my head. "No idea," I muttered, embarrassed again.

"Blaine," You said. Your eyes fell, and I knew I had fail. I had failed horribly. My lips began to tremble harder, and I didn't want to hear the answer, but I knew you were going to say it. I knew, once again, you'd make me fell inadequate again. I knew you would. You don't do it purposely, Sam. Never thank that. It's just who you are.

You handed me the picture. I held it firmly in my hands and looked it over. The man on the picture seemed like he was faking happiness, staring hollowly with his blue colored eyes. And then it hit me as you said it.

"This is your brother Cooper."

I started to cry.

After that you embraced me in another hug. You tried to do impressions, the best you could so. The ones that use to make me laugh. I don't even remember those times. I pulled away from the hug and grabbed the bag. There was one more thing in it, but it wasn't a letter.

"Blaine, I don't think you should look at that." You tried to grab the folded piece of paper from my hands, but I turned away.

I unfolded the letter and read the contents out loud. " We met right here. I took this man's hand and we ran down that hallway. And for that know me know I'm not in the habit of taking people's hands I've never met before, but I think my soul knew something that my mind and body didn't know yet. It knew that our hands were meant to hold each other, fearlessly and forever, which its why—" You grabbed the letter from my hand and shoved it into the bag.

"Do you know what that was?" It looked like you were crying. Did I hurt you Sam? If I did, I'm sorry.

I tried to recall what I had read. I could remember if I said it, or did Sam said it. I could think it was from my favorite movie, or book. I just couldn't remember. "I cant remember." I looked down at the floor because I wasn't ready for what you were going to tell me.

"Blaine, that speech, was what you said to Kurt when you asked him to marry you." You wiped a tear from your eye, but I couldn't move. How could I forget such a big memory?

"Fi-finish reading it," I demanded. You looked so confused "Please." You grabbed the letter from the bag and began to read where I left off.

"Which is why its never felt like I was getting to know you. Its always felt like I was remembering you from something as if in every life time, you and I have ever lived. We have chosen to come back and find each other and fall in love over again. Over and over for all eternity, and I just feel so lucky that I found you so soon in this life time because all I want to do, all I ever wanted to do, is spend my life loving you," You slowed down and nearly whispered this next part "So Kurt Hummel my amazing, friend and one true love, will you marry me?"

I scooted my chair closer to the wall. "I'm sorry Sam, but please leave." You stared at me not moving and unsure how to fell, but after minute you grabbed the bag and left, just like my memories did.

I know this isn't how you planned for today to go, but I know I can't save my memory. It's going and gone, just look at the calendar it's October I have at most two months left.

I'm sorry today ended like this.

-Blaine.


End file.
